Breaking Down the Wall
by piece2gether
Summary: While there are thousands of beautiful Bucky recovery stories out there, I wanted to write one too. I'm using Pink Floyd's "The Wall" to inspire each chapter, but at the core this is a story about friendship as Bucky heals and joins the avengers. Please Read and Review! Thanks!
1. Chapter 1

**In the Flesh- Pink Floyd**

 **So ya  
Thought ya  
Might like to go to the show.  
To feel the warm thrill of confusion  
That space cadet glow.  
Tell me is something eluding you, sunshine?  
Is this not what you expected to see?  
If you wanna find out what's behind these cold eyes  
You'll just have to claw your way through this disguise.**

His eyes opened and widened in panic as white light attacks his retinas. He went to jerk his hands up to hide his face, but despite his great strength he was unable to lift his arms due to the restraints wrapped around his body. They got him, _Oh God_ they got him, and it will be so much worse now than it would have been if he had just reported in like he was supposed to, if he had just accepted that he would never be human, that he was incapable of making decisions for himself, that he should have just killed Steve on the helicarrier instead of saving him… But He had _known_ him, not just recognized him, but _known_ him.

They must be getting ready to wipe him. He can hear their voices all around, though he isn't processing there words, it's all just noise, beeping machines, too loud. A whimper catches in the back of his throat. He feels a hand come down on his shoulder and he stiffens- he's not ready, he will never be ready, never _has been_ ready, to do this again. Though his eyes are scrunched tight against the light he can feel someone staring at his face.

"Jarvis?" The lights dim to a low glow. He blinks up, staring into an almost familiar face. Something about the point in the chin, the shape, sharpness in the blue eyes, is familiar too. He probably wiped him before, that's why he's struggling to remember. He struggles against the restraints harder now that he concentrate and see.

"Whoa… you're okay, James." _James?_ He stops struggling because it is still useless and studies the man again. He is shorter than the Soldier, but not by much, muscular. He wears a faded dark shirt and jeans. Beneath the thin cotton a blue light glows on his chest. The man has stepped back to the foot of the bed, appraising him more. He's thinking hard, chin resting on his fist as he touches his goatee.

"Can you understand me, James?" He asks slowly, carefully. He still hasn't moved.

"I'm not James," The Soldier says. It's not what the man asked, but it demonstrates comprehension. Besides, this man is not his handler. He doesn't need to comply completely in answering his stupid questions.

"Alright, what do you want to be called?" The Soldier scoffs and turns his head. He has not fallen for trick in a very, very long time. It strikes him that there is a pillow supporting him. That is not usually protocol. "My name is Tony Stark, you're in New York, in the Avengers Tower." Stark is speaking annoyingly slow. His cautiousness is making the Solider more nervous. Why is he afraid? _Just wipe me and be done with it,_ he thinks. Now that it and his punishment for failing to kill Captain America are inevitable he just wants it over with. He chokes down another whimper biting down on his back teeth and staring at the ceiling. "Are you in pain?" Stark's voice sounds concerned and he moves forward then, to the side of the table. Looking up at him from below somehow makes his heart race.

Is this a technician instead? Is something wrong with his arm? Oh No, is he in need of another upgrade? His heart stutters at the thought of that. No no no. He looks down in panic, more panic when his metal arm doesn't react when he wishes it too. He other arm is in a brace. _What the Hell?_ He looks up at stark in confusion, but answers the question as directed.

"I am not in pain." He doesn't ask his questions because that is something that he is never allowed to do.

Stark indicates his non-metal arm, "We fixed your broken arm" - as if the Soldier hadn't realized that. "I disabled your other one. Couldn't have you trying to use it to kill anyone right off the bat. Don't worry, I can fix it later." Stark has begun slowly pacing as he talks, but the soldier does not want to listen, and he doesn't feel as though he was ordered to pay attention, so he lets his mind wander as the man babbles.

"…and Steve is here too, but… well, we thought it would be best if you met someone who you hadn't tried to kill first."

"Steve?" The Soldier speaks without thinking and snaps his mouth shut, eyes wide.

"Yeah, him and Sam are the ones who brought you in. You needed some undercover medical work, and I guess they thought Stark Enterprises could provide the best care." His face looked annoyingly smug and then sobered. "You tried to kill Sam too- and that's why I get to be the test dummy." The soldier doesn't know what to say to that.

"Would you like to see Steve?" The soldier doesn't really know but nods anyway.

It's almost immediate, the sound of a door opening- and then- He's there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thin Ice- Pink Floyd "The Wall"**

 **Momma loves her baby  
And daddy loves you too.  
And the sea may look warm to you babe  
And the sky may look blue  
But ooooh Baby  
Ooooh baby blue  
Oooooh babe.**

 **If you should go skating  
On the thin ice of modern life  
Dragging behind you the silent reproach  
Of a million tear-stained eyes  
Don't be surprised when a crack in the ice  
Appears under your feet.  
You slip out of your depth and out of your mind  
With your fear flowing out behind you  
As you claw the thin ice.**

Steve stands before him with impossibly wide eyes and a pale face.

"Bucky?" He speaks with such sickening hope. He steps closer and the Soldier turns his face. He had begun to remember this man in snapshots. Nothing coherent, but the memories were deep and aching, and went back so long, before- he thinks- before all the Hydra bullshit. The soldier wants to respond. The words _Hey, Punk_ come to mind, but they don't make sense and get caught in the back of his throat. He chokes them down and settles for a jerky nod of acknowledgment.

" _God, Buck_ ," Steve is looking at him, looking at his restraints, looking at his face. His brow is crinkled and his eyes water. He takes a step closer and the Soldier stiffens. He knows this man- Steve- but he's still too close. He feels too real, and a nagging feeling is telling him that this man should not be alive. That he should've died long before the newspapers even said.

Steve pauses, holding himself back with that same broken look on his face.

"Do you know who I am?"

This is a direct question, and the Soldier can't help but turn his head to look at him when he answers.

"Steve Rogers" he barely makes out in a whisper. The man nods encouragingly wanting him to continue. "You used to be smaller…" The Soldier pauses when Steve sucks his lips in biting on them brows pulling up in the center. The Soldier doesn't want to upset him, he doesn't want to cause this man anymore pain.

"Yeah, Bucky. I did used to be smaller."

"We lived in Brooklyn. Somewhere," he tries to move his un-cooperating hands to indicate a smaller space "It was cold in the winter, and too hot in the summer. We had to leave the windows open all the time." The man was still nodding the affirmative, looking pleased, even with wet eyes. "We were… we were…" the soldier pauses again. Nothing in his memory can supply the word for their relationship.

"We were friends, Bucky... We are best friends." And then something in Steve seems to sink in and he moves all the way to the bed and undoes the straps. And it's still odd looking up at him so vulnerable.

 _All he knows now is pain and static. Please…Please….Please repeats in his head while his lips whisper his name rank and serial number. He can give them his identity, but he can't tell them what they want to know. Hell, he can't even remember what they want to know. He just want the buzzing in his head to stop, and then, through the fog Steve's face is there, pulling him up and out of hell._

As the straps are pulled away the Soldier finds he still can't move his arms comfortably, but he shift his shoulders down into the soft mattress all the same. Steve pulls up a chair from across the room and pushes it near the bed. He sits down and leans forward looking expectant.

The Soldier racks his brain for what to say or do, Steve is obviously waiting for another response. His breathing increases as if sucking air will let him drink in good answer to whatever the unasked question is. Steve's hand tentatively comes out to reach his shoulder. The Soldier's eyes grow large watching it. Steve's hand is not fast enough to cause damage, but maybe he has something hidden on his palm that can shock or stab. He tries to stay still but still ends up leaning towards the opposite corner of his bed.

"Are you okay?" Steve's hand comes down on his shoulder, heavy and warm, and not a punishment.

Bucky nods "yes" because he is okay. He's the most "okay" he's been in a long time.

 _"I was so worried about you, ya jerk." Steve's hand was warm on his shoulder as they sit in the mud somewhere in France._

 _"Yeah, well, I would have found my way out- still no reason for you to risk your…" His hand waves around indicating Steve's new body…"life." He smiles jokingly, but inside he's still so amazed and grateful, and maybe jealous, that his emotions are all tightly coiled in a warm ball around his stomach and up to his throat._

The Soldier opens his eyes realizing that he had squeezed them closed. Steve's hand is still heavy on his shoulder. His eyes concerned.

"Are you hungry? Tired?" Steve asks. "Bruce said you were malnourished, and we pumped you full of antibiotics and stuff when you got here to ward off infection- so you might be sleepy still."

The soldier just stares. He's never been asked his opinions regarding his well-being. He stares at Steve warily. Just as he _knows_ him he _knows_ he won't be harmed by him. But he can't shake the years of forever that make him swallow his voice and words and thoughts like thick, sour vomit back down.

"Jarvis, can you please have some chicken noodle soup brought here?" Steve asks the air. His chin tilts towards a blinking red light in the corner. The light is nondescript. Non-invasive, and while he ignored it at first, he recognizes it for what it is now. He is being recorded. That never bodes well. He goes stiff. Is this a trap? Is he still in the hands of Hydra- was Steve working for them the entire time? Was this a test of his loyalties? They did that, before he thinks.

"No, no, no" the soldier whispered pushing back to the side of the bed closest to the wall.

"Buck… What's wrong?

"You…you...tricked me" muttered the Soldier. "Steve is dead." He stated the words calmly. He had been made to repeat them for years.

"No, I'm not dead. Buck. I should have died. So should have you. But we both survived. We're safe now. You're in the Avengers Tower. Tony Stark owns and runs the place. We are here as guests. We're going to stay here until you get better."

"Please, no soup. Please…" the Soldier doesn't know why he's begging. But he can't help the words pouring out of his mouth. "Please, please…"

"Buck, you're okay. Just lay back down." Bucky looked like he was about to cry.

"I'm sorry, please…"

"Okay. It's okay. Just close your eyes. I'll tell you about us, and about you."

Not knowing what else to do, Bucky closed his eyes.

"Look try to sleep, Buck. When you wake up, we'll get you something to eat."

Bucky makes a keening sound in the back of his throat, but keeps his eyes closed. Steve starts talking. He talks about playing ball together between light posts, about the buttery taste of Bucky's Momma's biscuits, about Mr. Holland in primary school- who wouldn't let them sit together, so they learned Morse code to tap across the room by clicking their pencils against the edges of their desks.

He told Bucky about how Gosh Darn grateful he was that first fight when he got pushed down-and stayed down, and just when it seemed like the end Bucky had leaped in to save the day…

"Look, I know that you never thought much about it - you're such a good guy and all, Buck… but you were the best part of my life." Steve was talking head bowed now, gripping his best friend's hand. Bucky was either asleep or very good at acting asleep. "If it's alright with you, I'm just gonna sit here for a while." _Maybe forever_ , "We're going to get through this." Steve nodded to himself, eyes pinched and emotions raw. Yep. No matter what, they were going to get through this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** So, I don't remember if I did this for the previous chapters or not, but pretty obviously I don't own any of these characters. I just got inspired and wanted to take a break from writing essays to write something more fun.

 **Another Brick in the Wall Part 1**

 **Daddy's flown across the ocean  
Leaving just a memory  
Snapshot in the family album  
Daddy what else did you leave for me?  
Daddy, what'd'ja leave behind for me?!  
All in all it was just a brick in the wall.  
All in all it was all just bricks in the wall.**

 **"You! Yes, you! Stand still laddy!"**

 _He hurt and shivered in the cold of his cell. His walls and floor were cement. He knelt on the floor where they left him his now boney knees aching from the hard ground. Steve will come. He was probably organizing a rescue mission outside of the complex right now. Of course Bucky had been shown the paper of saved New York with Steve's face in the corner lamenting his death and great sacrifice. He hadn't believed them at first. But it was eating at his soul slow and torturously. There was a voice in his head that no longer believed his hopeful mantra and mourned bitterly for his friend. Hadn't he known the stupid punk would die in some damn heroic gesture? He rocked back and forth, right arm cradling his bare chest and knees creaking on the floor, even though he was doubting it more and more he repeated his hope again. Steve will come. His stomach was so empty it was a constant dull ache now. Gooseflesh covered body and he shivered violently against the dampness._

 _"Hey."_

 _He didn't look up. He no longer had the strength to stare back defiantly and shout curses- but God help him the day he was unable to steadily ignore the guards._

 _"Hey" the voice said again, softly gently. "I'm a friend. Here…" under his face appeared the soft fabric of blanket. Soon the mouth-watering smell of chicken soup wafted under his nose. You must be hungry and cold, right?" The blanket was tucked over his shoulders by unacknowledged hands. "Eat" the man said. The man is not his usual guard. The man is not dressed in a hydra uniform, and the man speaks perfect English, which for some reason makes Barnes trust him more. Still though, eating soup could be seen as a weakness. He is tougher than that. He can endure a bit longer. He can endure until Steve comes. He lets the soup that smells so heavenly cool and congeal. He wants to lose the blanket, but he can't bear to shake it from his shoulders._

 _The next day the man comes back. He looks at the congealed soup with sad eyes. He places another hot bowl in front of James. This time he grabs James's hand forcefully putting it on the side of the bowl. A small piece of paper is now trapped under his fingers. "Eat" the man says meaningfully, compassionately. Once he is gone James peaks at the paper. Hastily written is "He is coming…keep up your strength." Blinded by hope he eats the soup. He thinks it is the best meal he has had in his entire life. The next day the man brings more, and tells Barnes that his name is John. John doesn't disclose any more information about himself but remains the only positive constant in Barnes life for a while until one day another note is stuck to the bottom of the soup bowl. It says, "Tonight."_

 _James cries._

 _That night though after he eats the soup he vomits and can't stop. "Poison" is the only thing that comes to mind. Two men barge into his cell and drag him out. Once upon a time he'd like to think he could've made short work of them, but now, weak, feverish, and down an arm he's pathetically powerless. Barnes is brought to a room filled with Hydra agents. Standing to the right of Zola is John- his source of hope in the misery, his connection to Steve. The man looks smug in a crisply pressed Hydra uniform. James is forced down into a kneeling position hand restrained behind his head._

 _"Tonight, Gentlemen." Begins Zola, "we have some entertainment." A film begins running and James sees himself reflected on the screen shivering pitifully. He watches as John brings him soup. And a note, and blankets. John snickers, and cruel small smile curling up the corners of his lips as Zola turns to smile at him approvingly. Barnes watches his face, sees his obvious hope. The men laugh._

 _They laugh harder when Zola plays the memorial service for Steve Rogers on the radio- and then Barnes can hear his own mother's voice over the static. Speaking as an honorary parent at Steve's service, talking about how much his friendship had meant to her own son, mourned only a little while earlier. He can hear her crying and Zola turns the dial to increase the volume. He clicks the radio off as the President begins addressing the assumed crowd._

 _John steps forward looking down his nose at the wounded soldier. "You thought I meant Captain America. He is dead. Zola came for you tonight."_

 _And then Barnes's lungs compress on him as the agents converge. Beating and pulling him to the other room for more experiments. They laugh at his pain, at his humiliation. Captain America is Dead they sing and whisper, and repeat in multiple languages until it's all Barnes can hear echoing between his ears._

 _That's the day James Buchanan Barnes died too._

Steve's phone vibrates quietly against the armrest of the chair he currently occupies pushed near, but not too near, to his sleeping friend. It's late, too late for social calls. He runs a weary hand down his face before pressing the screen on. Sam. It was just Sam checking in, wanting to make sure everything was okay. Affected more than he expected by the thought Steve swallowed thickly before texting back the affirmative.

Bucky is sleeping still. He's curled on his side, and Steve knows that he could leave and get some real sleep too, but he doesn't want to. It may be silly, they _are_ in Stark's home after all, but he can't sleep. When he closes his eyes they're back in a Patrol Base. It's his turn to take the watch.

Bucky's face twists in his sleep, and Steve sits up taller in the chair. He's unsure of whether or not to wake his friend, but his debate stalls as Bucky wakes himself breathing heavily and propelling himself nearly off the bed. Steve's hands hover near him, unsure how to help. Wide eyes search his face before they clear in recognition. "I'm really here?" Bucky breathes.

"Yeah, Buck… you're really here." Steve's hands still hover over Bucky's trembling body, unsure if he could or should do anything to help him relax. His tired eyes are getting wet, and it's a small miracle that tears haven't fallen yet today.

"Are you really here?" Bucky's voice was small, afraid to ask, but Steve nods choking down the emotion.

"Yeah, look, I know it doesn't make sense," He runs a hand through his blonde hair shaking his head a little, "but we're both here."

"You got me out?"

But Steve just shakes his head and smiles a little, "No. You got yourself out."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: None of the Characters are mine. The song belongs to Pink Floyd.**

 **A/N: Reviews, suggestions, and scenarios you would like to see happen in this story make me happy. Thanks.**

 **The Happiest Days of our Lives**

 **When we grew up and went to school  
There were certain teachers who would  
Hurt the children in any way they could**

 **"OOF!" [someone being hit]**

 **By pouring their derision  
Upon anything we did  
And exposing every weakness  
However carefully hidden by the kids  
But in the town, it was well known  
When they got home at night, their fat and  
Psychopathic wives would thrash them  
Within inches of their lives.**

Steve's hand tapped a staccato rhythm on the edge of the table. A sure tell, when he was comfortable enough to do it, that he was stressed and angry. Hard lines creased on the edge of his eyes as he fixed his gaze on the wall across from him.

"You watched it, didn't you?" Bucky sat down at the table next to him stiffly, sighing when his shoulder blades made contact with the back of the wooden chair. They were in his apartment in the Avengers tower. He had been transferred to the suite two weeks prior, and while it was his, it was really Stark's. That was okay though, he hadn't owned anything, not even himself, for a long time.

"Yeah." Steve responded in a clipped voice.

"You shouldn't have done that."

Steve shot him an incredulous look. "I needed to see it." The "it" was a film collection of the Winter Soldier's conditioning and training. _Training_ in this sense was synonymous with _torture_. Steve switched from tapping his fingers on the table to repeatedly squeezing his hand into a fist. Nat had delivered it post a Hydra raid yesterday, and after taking a few hours to decide, Steve watched it that morning.

"Fine. I wish you wouldn't have watched it." Bucky answered.

"Buck…"

"You could've asked." His face was dark with emotion. Steve hesitated, and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder sighing heavily.

"Yeah, I guess I could have. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't their fault, you know."

"Buck…"

"I'm serious, they got it just as bad. If they didn't do it to me than someone else would've, and they would've had the same things done to them that they were doing to me. Cut off one head and two more will take its place."

Steve, feeling sick hearing Bucky talk like that in combination with what he watched a few hours previously, pushed off the table and stood up, rubbing circles into his eyes and temple and paced the kitchenette.

"Bucky. That doesn't matter. They are still responsible for how they treated you, for what they did to you. They chose to be there, they chose Hydra, and they are responsible for their actions!" He hadn't meant to raise his voice. In the recent past Bucky reacted adversely to it, but he couldn't help it. The currently living monsters from the video were lucky they were in a jail cell and in FBI custody. It was probably the safest place for them.

"Am I not responsible for mine then?!" Bucky shouted back also pushing off the table and standing up. It had been a recent and ongoing argument/discussion in the Avenger household. Bucky, gaining back memories and piecing together the puzzle of the past 70 years, wanted to atone for the bloodshed and violence he had been a part of. The Avengers, most loudly Steve, rebelled against the idea. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know what he was doing… but James Barnes did know what he was doing. He might not have been able to stop himself, but he remembered the crack of bones, the sluggish gush of bright red blood from a chest wound. He knew the intricacies of setting up "accidents," and disappearing into a crowd. For 70 years he committed atrocities, and he watched it all replay in his dreams every night. It was his fault. He was responsible. He stared witheringly at Steve for a long second and then turned and went into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Aw, c'mon, Buck!" Steve said through the door. A loud crash answered him soon joined by the sound of sliding furniture as it was moved to barricade the door.

"Go away, punk."

Steve leaned against the doorframe with his hands on his head for a second before walking out of the Bucky's apartment taking deep breaths.


	5. Chapter 5

**Previous Disclaimer applies. They only money I make off this comes in the form of reviews.**

 **Another Brick in the Wall II**

 **We don't need no education  
We don't need no thought control  
No dark sarcasm in the classroom  
Teachers leave them kids alone  
Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!  
All in all it's just another brick in the wall.  
All in all you're just another brick in the wall.**

 **We don't need no education  
We don't need no thought control  
No dark sarcasm in the classroom  
Teachers leave them kids alone  
Hey! Teachers! Leave them kids alone!  
All in all it's just another brick in the wall.  
All in all you're just another brick in the wall.**

 **"Wrong, Do it again!"  
"If you don't eat yer meat, you can't have any pudding. How can you  
have any pudding if you don't eat yer meat?"  
"You! Yes, you behind the bikesheds, stand still laddy!"**

James Barnes sits stiffly across the table from Clint Barton his flesh hand spread out on the wooden surface pressing into the wood a bit to prevent his fingers from shaking. His metal hand is curled into a fist on his lap. He bites down on his back molars setting his jaw and fixing Clint with his most intimidating stare. If Clint was intimidated, he hides it well. Where Barnes sits rigid and focused, Clint appears lazily relaxed. Comfortable even in the hostile environment of the Common Kitchen and Lounge. He has one knee slung over the edge of the chair armrest and is leaning back relaxed, open, and confident. James has already decided that he doesn't understand this man. Why would someone make themselves so vulnerable around him? They had been staring at each other for the past five minutes. Barton occasionally tapping is his fingers on his knee, but otherwise he doesn't seem to mind waiting. The tapping isn't impatient. James swallows the whine in the back of his throat. He doesn't _want_ to be out here. He doesn't _want_ to be out in the open with this seemingly undisciplined man without Steve.

Steve had walked him over saying, "You'll like Clint. He's nice and funny. You two are really a lot alike." And then Steve had left as soon as Barnes sat down and Clint walked in. James wanted to ask how long he would be required to sit at the table and stare at the stranger, but Steve doesn't like it when he asks about how long he is required to do things. His face would scrunch up and eyes would get sad, and that sucked more than the not knowing. So James resigned himself to sit quietly until the other man grew tired of it and told him to go back to his room. He couldn't care less if the man was "nice" or "funny" those attributes meant little to him now. But Steve wanted him to sit here, so he would do that.

They were quiet for another ten minutes before Clint stands with a stretch and grunt, and James jerks his hand off the table. Clint glances at him appraisingly and then very deliberately turns his back on him and walks to the refrigerator. The door opens smoothly and without sound as Clint starts rummaging around. Turning around he looks at James inquisitively.

"You allowed to drink beer?"

James likes the way he asks it. Everyone is always so careful to make their questions sound like James is really the one in charge and as if he had the autonomy to make choices, but it feels like lying. James doesn't have autonomy, yet, and he knows it. He also doesn't know if he is "allowed" to drink beer. He wants to snicker thinking about what the anal-retentive doctors would think, but he usually ignores their discussions about him and medication, and instead focuses on the feeling of Steve's hand on his shoulder or the feel of the fibers of his shirt sleeve shifting as he rubs them between his metal fingers.

He shrugs noncommittally, and Barton raises his eyebrows in warning before tossing him a cold one from the fridge. He catches it, of course.

"Come on," Barton raises his arm and turns to the hallway with the elevator. "Let's go to the range."

James follows behind him without question.

The range is sterile. It is clean, and metal and cement, and comforting in its astringent qualities. Clint hands him an M-9, which James clears on impulse and watches as the full magazine is placed on the window next to him.

"Look, I know this isn't the coolest toy you've worked with, but it's what you get to play with today." Barton says as he picks up his bow and an arrow.

Barton takes a shot at his target, smiling when it hits dead center, and nodding to Barnes that it was his turn. Barnes, for being so screwed up from Hydra, is incredibly adept at reading body language. He loads his magazine with practiced hands and empties a round with as much precision as his strange companion. Barton takes a swig of beer and picks his next arrow. "Did Steve fill you in on the Invasion of New York from a few years ago?" Barnes nods. "Good. That was a really strange time for all of us. First time we worked together." Barton pauses, notched his arrow and releases it, "Well, first time _they_ worked together. I fought them."

Barnes stares at the silver gleam off the M-9 but doesn't touch it, worry twisting his gut.

"Loki- he's a god, did something to my brain. I knew what I was doing, but my body couldn't stop. He used me as a weapon, and he made me hurt my friends and teammates." His voice is quiet when he finishes.

James picks up his weapon again and fires another perfect shot before asking, "How long?"

"Three days."

They take turns exhausting a supply of arrows and bullets before Clint hears the safety of the M-9 click and the slide of metal against metal as Barnes sets it against the window sill. Barton sets down his bow and faces him, knowing that they are done with the range for the day. Glad that James is the one to decide that. James is looking angry and contemplative, nostrils flaring, but not offering anything to the conversation.

"I know it's not the same." Clint begins.

"It's not." James agrees.

"But, I understand a little at least, of what it's like to feel guilty for things I feel responsible for, even though I rationally know that I couldn't have done anything."

James just stares.

"It's suffocating, right? When you think about it. And it only gets worse, because when you think about it you start thinking that if you were only stronger, or better, or anything else, it wouldn't have happened. And then, to have friends tell you they love you anyway- even when you can't even _look_ at yourself, makes it hurt more. Because you know that these are people that you could have killed without thought or remorse. Everything hurts and feels too big and bright, and people are too forgiving of unforgivable things." Clint stops to look at him, but James is starting to look sunken in on himself so he finishes in a rush, "I only had three days of that, and I know that it doesn't come close to what you suffered…But I'm available to talk to or shoot with or… I'm just… I'm available, James."

James nods and swallows tightly. He clears his weapon, and hands it back to Clint.

"It's Bucky." He says, and turns to lead the way back up and into the kitchen.

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review-it really makes my day. I absolutely do not think that drinking alcohol and firing weapons go together. In fact, I would highly suggest that no one ever combine the two ever. But, for this chapter I really wanted Clint to offer something so normal and maybe a little taboo to Bucky so that he could already be seen as different, and then as superheroes I really don't think one beer is going to impair their judgment or aim- so that's that.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello:** It's been a long time since I uploaded. Sorry. My summer was very busy- and it took some time to get settled enough to write for fun. As always none of the characters or lyrics are mine. Please review. It's super encouraging, and I'm always open to suggestions.

 **Mother**

 **Mother do you think they'll drop the bomb?  
Mother do you think they'll like this song?  
Mother do you think they'll try to break my balls?  
Mother should I build the wall?  
Mother should I run for president?  
Mother should I trust the government?  
Mother will they put me in the firing line?  
Mother am I really dying?**

He was back on the plane. He knew he was dreaming because Stark's "wake up, now, you're having a nightmare" music was playing, he could hear it even as he tried to say goodbye to Peggy, but his eyes weren't opening yet, the snow and ice and water were seconds from crashing through the glass, tearing through the metal, engulfing him. He held his breath, his last breath and…. suddenly jolted awake breathing heavily, sweating through the sheets.

"Thanks Jarvis," he breathes heavily flipping on the nightstand light. Jarvis didn't respond, but the music stopped.

Yeah, not the worst dream he'd ever had, but he didn't want to sleep anymore. His heart was too fast, and the constant beat was making him feel too still and on edge. Rubbing a hand down his face he stood and stretched. He padded to the door and wandered the dark halls to the communal kitchen. He filled a glass with water and collapsed onto a stool. Shoulders hunching over, his elbows resting on the countertop. The kitchen was sterile, clean. Pepper called it "industrial design" but it Steve thought it was too clean even for that. Steve missed his mother's kitchen.

The depression had hit his family hard, but she kept their home comfortable. The tall hard stool that was his at the table, the thin curtains that blew in the hot summer breeze. She had embroidered the edges of them to "give a little life" to the room. She was all about giving life to places. She gave life to Steve, she gave life to the small pots of herbs in the window, she gave life to the neighborhood and the people she helped. She gave up her life to Steve again, caring for him even as her own lungs broke down from pneumonia.

Steve sniffed wiping his nose. He felt incredibly vulnerable. He was well into his 90's, his mother had been dead for well over 75 of those years, and yet, it felt like he still just lost her. He sipped at his water as his heart clenched in grief.

Would she be proud of him? Would she be proud of the man he became? Would she even recognize him? Would _he_ even recognize himself? There were so many things he wished he could talk to her about now. Sarah Rogers never saw him as weak. She told him he was capable, and strong, and when she tucked him in at night she'd kiss his forehead and whisper a prayer that he would always remain her strong, courageous, and honorable son. Steve wants so badly to not let her down. ****

**Hush now baby, baby, dont you cry.  
Mother's gonna make all your nightmares come true.  
Mother's gonna put all her fears into you.  
Mother's gonna keep you right here under her wing.  
She wont let you fly, but she might let you sing.  
Mama will keep baby cozy and warm.  
Ooooh baby ooooh baby oooooh baby,  
Of course mama'll help to build the wall.**

Blue, light blue, lavender soap, dark pinned up hair, comfort and security in arms that now had to reach up to hold him. Mother. Ma. In his dreams he could still feel the warmth of her hugs, how even in adulthood she could comfort him with a soft touch and small word of encouragement. Bucky's mother was not a weak woman, she was gentle and kind, and the wrinkles that appeared prematurely around her eyes and mouth spoke of laughter and worry in equal measure.

It was funny how the memories slipped back through. Maybe it wasn't funny- It was probably cruel that this was how his memories came back twisted into nightmares, because even now, knowing that he's dreamt this before and wanting to stay in his mother's embrace and feel her compassion and forgiveness around him, she morphs into Zola. Her bright eyes suddenly transform into beady ones with a pair of glasses pushing out of her flesh and onto the bridge of her nose. As he reels backwards her arms- no _His_ , still reached for him, calling "come here, my son. Come back. Come home."

Barnes wakes retching. ****

**Mother do you think she's good enough - to me?  
Mother do you think she's dangerous - to me?  
Mother will she tear your little boy apart?  
Mother will she break my heart?**

Steve is pulled from his memories when his phone vibrates. It's 03 in the morning, so it should be important, but whoever it was didn't call. He opens the message; it's from Tony- go figure.

"Rhodey wants to see us in the morning. POTUS might need us for something. I'm figuring a PR statement. Be ready by 8."

Steve set the phone on the countertop with a sigh. _Lady Liberty has sure changed_. The thought crossed his mind fleetingly. It was only in the dark, in the cool early hours of morning that he could admit to himself that he was tired. His mission had ended long ago, he should be done, he should rest, but he couldn't. He had new missions now - Charlie Mike and ruck on. He wasn't even sure of his purpose anymore. His America was different than it was so long ago.

Who was the enemy anymore? Who were the good guys? If anything the last year had demonstrated how the world was no longer divided into Nazis and heroes. It was deep and complex, and Captain America was now the symbol of Patriotism. A puppet for politicians that moonlighted as a superhero.

Steve curved over his glass again. He wanted to talk to Peggy about this. Gain perspective, hear her opinion. But she was so tired, and her memories were so deteriorated. When they visited he kept the conversation light, and they revisited old stories, and clung to the memories together. Soon she would be gone. Who would remind him of his purpose then, of his place in this ever-changing new world?

 **Hush now baby, baby don't you cry.  
Mama's gonna check out all your girlfriends for you.  
Mama wont let anyone dirty get through.  
Mama's gonna wait up until you get in.  
Mama will always find out where you've been.  
Mama's gonna keep baby healthy and clean.  
Ooooh baby oooh baby oooh baby,  
You'll always be baby to me.**

 **Mother, did it need to be so high?**

Barnes splashed cold water on his face, washing the last of the bile off his chin, clearing blood shot stinging eyes. He hated dreaming, and then he didn't, because some of the memories - before they were twisted and warped - were lovely and comforting.

It was strange, being here with the Avengers. Being here with Steve. He was grateful, he was relatively happy. It all just felt like a dream though. Soon, he knew, everything good would twist and change until it was ugly and death, and he'd be the only one left. He didn't want to pull anyone down into his crazy. They should all be able to continue living in their comforting dream worlds. Barnes knows that he's damaged goods.

He pushes his way out of his suite and wanders down the dark hallway. The big windows overlooking the city are nice for perspective. Open, free, and he feels untouchable. His footsteps are feather-light as they ghost over the floor. He's in the doorway when he sees Steve at the bar, bent over a drink, a hand in his hair. Peggy's compass is open in front of him. The gold reflects off the counter.

No, Steve doesn't need to deal with him now. Steve has his own hurts, and he wouldn't understand- he would resent Bucky for taking away this private moment. Bucky slides back into his room, heart heavy and feeling alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** **I obviously don't own any of this. Please let me know what you think- or what you'd like to see.**

 **Goodbye Blue Sky**

 **"Look mummy, there's an aeroplane up in the sky"**

 **Did you see the frightened ones?  
Did you hear the falling bombs?  
Did you ever wonder why we had to run for shelter when the  
promise of a brave new world unfurled beneath a clear blue  
sky?**

 **Did you see the frightened ones?  
Did you hear the falling bombs?  
The flames are all gone, but the pain lingers on.**

 **Goodbye, blue sky  
Goodbye, blue sky.  
Goodbye.  
Goodbye.**  
 **Goodbye.**

The day had been a good one. Bucky had even slowly been adventuring outside and they had spent the morning on the roof, reclining in camping chairs and drinking iced tea, reading books, swapping memories. Clear blue sky stretched above them, the sun was warm and familiar. The memories weren't even bad ones. They were about childhood games and an analysis of whether sports teams had improved or gotten worse with advances in technology. After the sun had become a little stifling with the heat rising off the skyscraper they had retired inside. It was a rare lazy day. Nowhere to go, just each other's company to enjoy.

They had just been watching the TV. Nothing interesting, a home improvement channel, passing a bag of popcorn back and forth, Bucky had slowly been tracing the grooves of his metal arm, when he suddenly gasped and grabbed it protectively. Steve immediately reacted mind already spinning with what it could be even though Stark assured him the arm was safe enough when they arrived.

"Buck, let me see it." Steve reached for him and Bucky darted to the other end of the couch.

"No." He pulled his arm away cradling it against his chest and grimacing.

"Buck…"

"Don't touch it." His eyes were dark and creased in pain.

"What happened- what hurts?" Steve was hovering not quite sure how to help as nothing appeared wrong.

Bucky shot him an incredulous look. "My arm- you punk." Bucky grunted chin tucked in, long hair covering his eyes…"I think something broke inside."

"Okay, okay. Let's go see Bruce and Tony. They can help. C'mon." Steve soothed putting one hand on Bucky's back and guiding him to the elevator and down to the lab mind racing with what could be causing the pain.

Bucky had visited the lab plenty of times in the last few months, but it was still hard for him to walk through the doors. Things were whirring, flashing, clicking. It set his teeth on edge. Life was so much easier when he couldn't and wasn't able to think about the details outside of what he was told to notice. Steve's hand never left his back offering a continuous pressure and comfort.

Steve cleared his throat, "Tony, can we borrow you for a bit, maybe you too, Bruce?"

Both men stopped tinkering and looked up taking in Bucky's hunched position and Steve's worried tone.

"Sure, come on in." Tony spoke casually though he back was tense as he ushered the two to a swivel chair. "What's up?"

Steve started to answer, but in the process of opening his mouth he realized he didn't really know what happened.

"My arm...there's something wrong." Bucky grunted still not looking any of them in the eye. Tony shot Steve a worried look, but spoke calmly.

"Okay, well, I'll try to disengage it, like when you first came here. Maybe if it's 'off' it won't be able to hurt you." Tony picked up a small tool as he moved behind Bucky to find the small divot that made a switch accessible. It was on the back of the shoulder in the only place Barnes couldn't reach easily. Bucky tensed as the click of the machine indicated that the arm was disabled. It felt heavier now.

"Better?" Tony popped back around.

"Yeah, yeah, I think so" Bucky stared at his metal hand unresponsive on his lap. Noticing the glint of the metal the little grooves that blood and gunk used to stain. Tony was talking about something to Steve in the background but their voices were fading in and out the more Bucky looked at his arm. Suddenly the pain was back greater than it had been before. "Argh…Fuck." Bucky bit out between clenched teeth.

"Buck- what is it?" Steve was pawing at him trying to look in his eyes to understand. And Bucky finally understood what Stevie had meant all those years ago about how reality slips away when you're struggling to survive. Steve had been talking about breathing, but Bucky figured passing out from pain counted too.

"Take it off!"

"What?!"

"Get it off…" Bucky was saying looking between Steve and Tony desperately. "get it off" His voice was breaking. His fingers were clawing at the shoulder joint, slipping on the metal. "Fuck, this is worse than…Please… Steve" Bucky was begging now, reaching up and grabbing Steve's shirt with his flesh hand.

Steve's panicked expression sought out Tony and Bruce for advice.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll see what we can do." Tony was already up reaching for a scanner that Bruce surreptitiously handed him from behind one of the tables. Bucky leaned into Steve, chest heaving, but stayed still until Tony pulled away. Then he was back crouched over the arm, simultaneously pulling on it and hugging it to his chest. Tony and Bruce leaned over the scanned images pointing and conversing quietly. They said things to Steve sometime, but that didn't matter. Nothing existed for Bucky outside a burning pulsating pain in his arm and the warmth from Steve's chest as he pulled Bucky against him as he answered Bruce's questions. Bucky focuses on breathing until Steve appeared in front of his face, leaning down to talk to him.

"We're going to sedate you. Tony and Bruce don't know how to take off your arm painlessly, so we'll put you under and then when you wake up we'll have some answers. Buck… are you sure you want it off? We can try something else."

Another pulse of fire worked its way from his fingers through his joints and into his brain. Bucky had to concentrate hard to grit out the affirmative.

"Ok, pal. If you're sure. I'll be here the whole time." Steve started easing him down against a cot that Avengers use for easy medical recovery when they return from missions. He sits next to him, one hand bracingly on his shoulder. Tony pulls over an IV stand with a bag.

"Alright, we're just going to get you hooked up here, and then we'll get to work." Tony reaches out to feel for a vein. But it's not okay. The entire process suddenly becomes as un-okay as it could be.

"No. . . no" Bucky was speaking nonsensically.

"Woah- Bucky. Are you alright?" Both of Steve's hands are on his shoulders now, and it took all his will not to shove him off.

"No, no, I'm- I'm not. I- I can't- don't make me…" his vision blurring Bucky could just make out the color of Steve's shirt in front of him Before a hand is on the side of his face and the cot depresses a little as Steve sits down.

"Do you want to keep it on?" Steve asks voice almost hopeful.

"NO- I just, no. But don't put me out. I can't- Steve-" Bucky's voice was a whine.

"Look, whatever you want, we can do it. But you have to talk to me. Nothing bad will happen to you, Bruce and Tony want to help."

It had been months since Bucky had reacted to anything remotely like this, but that didn't mean it was a shock.

"I wanna stay awake- I'll, I'll be good. I'll stay still. Just don't knock me out- please!"

Steve pulled away in shock. "Buck- that's not a good idea."

"Cap's right," Tony interjected, "I'm pretty sure about how the circuitry of this thing works, but I don't think it will be painless, and I can't guarantee speed. You'd be more comfortable if you could sleep this one out."

"No. No. No." Bucky raised his flesh arm up to begin tearing that the shoulder joint. He didn't appear to be doing any damage but the noises he was making deep in the back of his throat were begging to differ.

"STOP! Stop, Buck!" Steve was pushing his arm away holding him down, and that just made it all worse. A howl escaped his lips and even though a part of him recognized that he wasn't reacting normally, another part of him was consumed with a need to have the painful, torturous, piece of Hydra out of him. The fact it physically hurt was almost a moot point now.

"WAIT-" Tony moved to be in Barnes's line of sight, "What about a local anaesthetic. I'm not sure how well it will work on you, but you can stay conscious."

The room was silent except for Bucky's labored breathing. After consideration, he jerkily nodded.

"Ok, ok good." Tony pushed the IV back and grabbed a syringe instead. "tiny prick, and we'll get to work. I'm not sure how much you'll need so if it wears off or you want a break, let us know."

Bruce had moved over to help bringing a tray of tools with him and his sympathetic smile. Bucky swallowed loudly a few times but despite making a low keening sound in the back of his throat he trained his eyes on Steve.

"Don't look, but can you feel this?" a few minutes had passed and Tony was prodding the shoulder joint.

Bucky shook his head a few times before breathing out a "no."

"Okay, cool. Try to ignore us and we'll have this off in no time."

Tony hadn't been lying. They got to work. But it was tense. Quiet curses from Tony and quiet whispers from Bruce. Bucky hated whispers, but that paled in comparison to the high-pitched whir of mechanics and various other instruments. He scrunched his eyes closed and crushed his back teeth together in an effort to remain still against the noise, but then Steve was there. Hands on his face, covering his ears.

"Focus on me, Buck, they're almost done." Steve's voice seemed to be floating down through water, the pitch and cadence being warped by outside forces, but Bucky still latched onto it like an anchor. And strangely enough Steve was right. The arm popped off with a hiss only a few moments later. The slow- burning ache in his body slowly dissipating.

"Hey," Steve patted his face, not hard, just enough to make him turn his head and look at him, "I'm going to go talk to Bruce and Tony for a bit. Close your eyes, try to rest." Bucky wanted to make a smart reply about _what did you_ think _I was doing_? But he's too tired, so he just nods and closes his eyes, letting the voices around him fade to static.

"So, what was causing the problem?" Steve stood obnoxiously close looking over Tony's shoulder.

"Seriously, Cap? Nothing. I mean, this arm is sophisticated and I thought we'd find something. Hell, maybe even some trigger that caused pain intentionally, but I can't find anything wrong with this. It really is ingenious."

They were all quiet for a moment, soft breathing sounds from the cot the only noise.

"Steve," Banner's voice was contemplative and soft, "Do you think it could have just been psychosomatic?"

After a while Steve woke Bucky up. "C'mon. Let's get you to a real bed? Do you feel any better?" Steve's arm had wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him up and supporting him as they walked. Bucky collapsed in his bed, folding in on himself staring out the window. Steve settled himself on the floor, back leaning against the bed frame. Outside the sky is now grey, and rain pattered against the glass.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** : Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays! This chapter is short, but hopefully good. Please leave a review if you enjoyed it or if you have suggestions. As always, I don't own Pink Floyd or any Marvel anything.

 **Empty Spaces**

 **What shall we use**  
 **To fill the empty spaces**  
 **Where we used to talk?**  
 **How shall I fill**  
 **The final places?**

 **How should I complete the wall?**

Bucky's spoon dipped lethargically into his cereal. The thin metal pushing down cheerios until the milk swelled around the edges and finally pooled in sunken surface. Steve's chair shifted against the floor. Bucky looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, hoping to appear casual or maybe joking. But Steve just looked at him with eyes that said _Eat. Please, Eat_.

 _God, Steve, worry much?_ He couldn't help but think, as he stood and placed his mostly untouched breakfast in the sink. Steve had the good sense to not say anything. Scanning the room, and not seeing anywhere better to go, he sat heavily back in his chair at the table. Steve cleared his throat. _Great._

"So, Bucky, what do you want to do today?" _I don't know, Steve, what can I do? What will Fury allow me to do, what will New York permit me to do, what will your friend "Mr. I'm-here-to-help" recommend I do today?_

"I'm up for anything." Bucky says instead, trying to throw a smirk Steve's way. Steve doesn't seem to buy it.

"I'm serious, Buck. What do you want to do?" He's looking at him with those pleading eyes, again. _Jesus, stop it, Steve. You don't have to beg, I just know my options are limited._

"I told you, Stevie. I'm up for anything. You can pick."

"No. Buck. What do _you_ want to do? If you could do anything…" Steve is looking frustrated and disappointed, his eyes darting to the sink with the half-eaten soggy cereal. _God, is this one of those things- one of those autonomy things the docs kept whispering about?_ Bucky rolls his eyes and slouches in his chair a bit. He doesn't answer.

"Buck."

"God, Steve, I guess if I could do anything, I'd go back in time. You know- to before all this crap happened to us." He answers throwing his arms out wide indicating the room.

"Yeah," Steve pauses, one arm wrapped around himself, staring at the table, "I know, and I'm sorry, but…"

Bucky laughs dryly, "Yeah, Stark hasn't built a time machine yet. Good thing too, you know we'd end up as morlocks."

Steve still looks hesitant. _Am I really that breakable?_ Bucky decides to propose ideas that he thinks would make Steve happy. "Can we leave this place? Think we could hit up Coney Island- see if the rides still make you barf?"

Steve looks sad still. "You should pick something to do here. Fury still hasn't cleared us" _you_ "for heading out yet. But when he does we can go to Coney Island. There is seriously so much I want to show you. I mean, the technology alone- " Steve is going off about new cars- automatic and self driving ones- large cities, and ice cream flavors. Bucky zones hime out.

"Buck…"

"Hmmm"

"So… anything sound good?"

"Oh," _no, nothing sounds good._ "Can we just hang out here. Watch a movie or something?"

Steve smiles, "Sure! Tony has a huge collection, and if you want to see anything that he doesn't have he can send a runner to pick it up for us."

"Great. Well, let's do that."

"Ok. Wanna go down now? I think Natasha and Bruce are here? Clint is gone- but last I heard he might show up sometime today…" Steve talks and talks as Bucky follows him to the elevator and down a floor.

The room is empty.

"Want to stay here? I can go get them."

Bucky nods and heads to the shelves of blue-rays. Now that he is alone it's easier to breathe. No, that's not really true. But now that he's alone he can think without thinking of how his thoughts are impacting Steve. He scans the shelves listlessly. The hard copies weren't necessary- he knows that Stark has them all somehow uploaded to play on command. But the disks were tactile. He wasn't sure if they had them out just for him or for others too. His fingers trace over the edges of covers. He doesn't really want to watch any of them. But, then again, he doesn't really want to do anything.


End file.
